You Gonna Kill Me or Kiss Me?
by Sheatana
Summary: "So you mean to tell me that you have never had a real, meaningful relationship with a woman? That's a very sad life for a man to lead Jayne," Book said. "Well, I don' know that I'd call it meaningful… But I guess ya could count my wife." JaynexOC
1. Prologue

Hi ya'll! This is my first Firefly fic, so I'm not sure how it's going to go. So, I'm still working on what I want this story to be... as it stands now it's kinda a oneshot, but I have an idea for a long story plot. I just wanted to see how it went over before I continued on with it. Please let me know what you think! Your reviews might decide if this story continues! Also I welcome constructive criticism!

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"I just don' git it, Preacher," Jayne huffed, pushing the heavy barbell up.

"What isn't there to get, Jayne?" Book answered, sighing. He had lost track of how many times they had had this conversation.

It was late; most of the crew had retired to their rooms by now. They had been cruising in the black for a solid week, with another two until they finally crossed the galaxy and made for Persephone. And as with most of their long trips without landfall, Jayne had gotten restless and bored by the fifth day. Having cleaned all his guns (twice), sharpened his knives, and catalogued his entire inventory of ammo, Jayne had run out of things to keep himself occupied. So he had taken to working out a ridiculous five hours a day, which is how the Shepard found himself stranded in the cargo bay in the middle of the night, having the exact same conversation that they had a month ago.

"Whaddya mean 'What inn't there to git?!' How does a livin', breathin' man function without gittin' good an' sexed up every once in awhile?"

Book pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. How many times was he going to have to explain this? Sure, he and Jayne shared a devotion to the Lord (if you could call Jayne's casual and often conveniently forgotten faith that), but they employed two very different methods of living. The Shepard, a devoted man of god trying desperately to make up for some unknown sin of the past, leading the straight and narrow, and the mercenary, a man of fluctuating morals, doing what he wanted when he wanted, explaining himself to no one. And no matter how many times Book told him that sex was not NEARLY as important as the merc seemed to think it was, Jayne just could never quite get it through his thick skull.

"So yer tellin', for certain, that ya ain't never ever gotten a taste of it? Not even a little peek," the big man pressed, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Well, as I have said, I wasn't always a Shepard."

"Right," he grunted, clanging the bar into its holder. "Want me to spot ya?"

Another sigh. "Well I might as well, since I'm already up. Might help me sleep a bit more later," Book answered wearily sliding onto the bench. "I'm not so sure why you find my situation so strange Jayne. I think you're as much of a curiosity as I am."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," he began, carefully lowering the bar. "You go through your life interacting with, I'm going to guess, hundreds of women, and yet, other than your mother, I haven't heard you talk about one of them with anything more than fleeting fondness. That I find strange."

"Don' rightly see why, Shepard. Ain't like my kinda life is any good fer womenfolk. I sure as hell ain't gonna live very long, and 'sides ain't like there's women linin' up waiting fer me when we hit dirt. Well that ain't exactly true, but it's only 'cause they know I got coin."

"So you mean to tell me that you have never had a real, meaningful relationship with a woman? That's a very sad life for a man to lead Jayne."

"Well, I don' know that I'd call it meaningful… But I guess ya could count the one with my wife."

Book dropped the bar right onto his chest.


	2. Callahan and the Dragon

"Gorram it! Why can' somethin' go smooth for once!" he growled, jamming another cartridge into Vera.

He'd been with this crew going on three months now, and every rutting time they pulled a job, something went wrong. Last time, the buyer had tried to kill them; the time before that it had been the seller, and the time before that it had been bandits. There was always someone trying to shoot them. Today's job should have been simple thievery: get in, get out, get paid, get laid. Simple right? Except someone forgot to mention that there would be a mercenary there protecting the goods. And that said mercenary had good enough intel to bring a ruttin' MISSILE LAUNCHER to work that day.

The plan had been simple: there was a some hun dan, who had gotten filthy rich during the war selling out Independents, hiding away on some dust bowl moon in the middle of Nowheresville on the rim. And hiding with him was a boat load of untraceable platinum. It made the mouth water just thinking about it. The thought was that it had been a couple of years since the war ended and this fat rich son of a bitch had gone into hiding. So by now his guard was like to be down, and his eyes would be too glazed over with greed to see them coming. Nothing but a mediocre alarm system and a couple of bodies to keep them from their prize. At least that would have been true if it hadn't been for that gorram missile launcher.

Jayne knew they were humped the minute he heard that distinctive high pitched whistling sound rapidly getting closer and closer. He'd just had enough time to yell and jump behind a large rock before the shuttle exploded with bits of metal flying every which way. He forgot just how many creative swear words had fallen out of his mouth as he watched their only hope of a quick escape burn.

"Let's just get the loot an' make a run fer it!" Roscoe, their ugly-ass, double chinned moron of a leader, yelled. "We ken lose 'im in the dunes!"

'Yeah cause walking across the desert on some deserted hunk of rock with no water is how everyone does it right?'

Jayne was pissed. And that was before the hellfire of bullets started raining down from God knows where. He had managed to scamper further behind his rock before it exploded about the height his head had been. The others weren't so lucky. Their crew had quickly gone from five to three in a matter of seconds. Jack, their alarm specialist, had be a quick shot to the head, but the other, Mick, a down right son of a bitch that made even Jayne's skin crawl, had gotten one right through the back down into his stomach. And it wasn't an accident either. He fell right in front of Jayne, screaming and bawling his eyes out clutching at his wound as stomach acid started eating away his insides. Jayne had a sympathy flinch for him.

"Jayne!" he gurgled, blood seeping from his lips. "Please! Get me outta here! I don' wanna die on this hunk o' dirt!"

There was a another spray of bullets that landed right in front of him, kicking up dust in Jayne's face.

"I don' git paid enough for that go se!" he had responded bitterly. Instead, he raised Vera and put a bullet through his head. That put an end to his blubbering.

So now here he was, stuck behind a rock with no where to run, and his only cover was slowly being whittled away by high caliber rounds. Yup, he was pissed. Roscoe kept trying to tell him something, but Jayne couldn't hear shit over the bangs of that rifle. Every time, Roscoe would try to get around to get a shot, the rock would explode right in front of him. It was almost like that merc was biding time... almost like he was waiting for something...

And that's when Jayne noticed the shuttle getting ready to take off not to far from where they were pinned down. The bullets abruptly stopped, and now he could hear the panting breaths and thundering footsteps as the merc tried to make the flight. 'The hell if I let that hundan live while I ain't gettin' paid!'

"Benny!" he yelled. "Take off that way and start shootin'! Imma make sure that bastard don't leave here alive!"

He didn't wait to see if Benny followed his orders. He was sprinting as quietly as he could, which wasn't very quiet at all considering he was a large man. He was watching as the other merc ran as fast as he could with the large rifle dangling over his shoulder. 'That's a pretty skinny merc...' The pops of Benny's handgun got the merc's attention, but he didn't stop. Instead, he spun around, still running backwards, and fired off two shots from a handgun at his side. Benny went down like a sack of potatoes, and the merc flipped back around and was dashing to the ramp of the ship. But Jayne had caught up enough to throw one of the trusty grenades that he kept tucked safely in his vest. He pulled the pin with his teeth, and launched it toward the ship. That merc barely had time to see it hit the ship before it exploded.

"Wahoo! Take that you hundan!" Jayne whooped, thrusting his hand in the air. "Don' feel so good gettin yer ship blown up on ya now does it!"

He sunk to his knees catching his breath. It had been a good long while since he had to run that fast. He heard Roscoe behind him, stumbling along in the sand and tripping over the rocks and shrubs. Why was he in charge again? Jayne wondered. Roscoe came up beside, hollering for joy at the sight of the burning shuttle. He clapped Jayne on the shoulder heartily.

"You done real good Jayne! Shame 'bout 'em other boys though. No matter... more fer you and me right! Listen, now that that gorram merc is outta the way, lets go back to the house an' see if..." That was all he got out before his head exploded.

"Ruttin hell!" Jayne screamed, jumping up with Vera at the ready.

"Put your gorram weapon down, you ruttin hundan!" a shrill voice echoed from somewhere behind the rocks.

Jayne frantically looked around for the source of the voice, and his mouth dropped open when he saw it. There, standing on top of one of the boulder, with a giant rifle pointed directly at his skull, was the merc. A female merc. And boy did she look angrier than a hungry pit viper.

"Drop it! Or I swear to ruttin god I will riddle you with so many holes your own momma won't recognize you!"

Jayne did as he was told, slowly too. He recognized that look. All women got it when they were good and pissed off. He had seen his Ma and sisters get it one too many times growing up. It was the do-as-I-say-real-quick-like-if-you-value-your-man-parts look. Damn if it wasn't one of the hottest things he'd ever seen on that gal. He couldn't believe what he was doing. Standing there next to his dead captain and an exploded shuttle, he was completely checking out the killer woman that had a giant gun leveled at his head. Her tight pants didn't leave much to the imagination: long legs that were well muscled from use. Around each thigh she had a knife belt; one had long hunting knife and the other had a circlet of throwing knives. Jayne couldn't help thinking of slipping those off her legs like garters. She wasn't burly like most mercs. She was actually rather thin... not the kind of thin like the whores he liked to frequent when he got land leave: the kind of muscly thin that made your eyes cross when they contorted into some unfathomable position or another. 'God I hope I'm not drooling right now.'

She knew what he was doing, saw his eyes raking over her. She leapt easily off the rock, landing lightly in front of him. She stood quickly, gun still trained on him, but she only came to Jayne's chest. That look was gone; her dark eyes were surprisingly blank now. She was surveying him like she was on a reconassiance mission.

"That's a Callahan full bore auto-lock isn't it?" she asked, eyes locked on his.

"Sure is," he responded swelling with pride. "Customized the trigger on it."

"You have a good taste in weapons," she stated, beginning to circle around him. "I've had my eye on one of those for a couple years now, but they're hard to come by since the war."

"Yeah, got this un when six men came to kill me one time. Best 'o em carried it."

She scoffed. "Big talk coming from a man who has gun aimed him and a bunch of dead crew mates."

She stopped in front of him, staring directly into his eyes. She had a pretty face, though it was a little bloodied from when he blew her ship earlier. She had a strong jaw and high cheek bones. There was a faint outline of a scar running down her left cheek, old wound long since healed. But the most striking thing were her eyes. They reminded him of a hawk's, but so dark, they were almost black. His eyes drifted down to her lips. Pink, soft, and pouty, just like every good girl's. The kind every man wanted to see wrapped around his dick.

She threw him a predatory grin. Those eyes were dancing with light now. Jayne knew that look too; that look was trouble.

"Looks like I shot your boss," she stated simply, lowering the gun slightly. "And you blew the payload when you blew my ship."

"Ya blew mine first!" he growled.

"True. But my point is that neither of us is getting paid now, so there's very little point in my putting a bullet between your eyes, when there's nothing in it for me."

He narrowed his eyes now. Something was up. Her gun was hanging loosely at her side now, hungry grin still plastered on that pretty face. Jayne wasn't a smart man by any means, and he was definitely all kinds of stupid when it came to trim. And that look told him he was likely to get himself into a whole world of trouble before the day was out.

"It's almost sunset," she continued, glancing around. "I can tell you that you don't want to be traipsing around here at night. You're likely get yourself lost and/or frozen. Might as well find something to entertain ourselves for the night."

He wondered when his mouth had fallen open. He just stared at her completely dumbfounded as she turned to walk back to the house, stripping off her body armor. This wasn't happening. She wasn't really...

"Oh come on, Callahan! Just because we didn't get paid, don't mean we can't get laid! I refuse to let this day be a complete waste!"

Yes, she really was. Jayne didn't need to be told twice. He hastily scooped up Vera and hurried along beside her. He casually tossed his arm over her shoulders, leering down at her breasts that were now visible without her armor.

"Seeing something you like there, Callahan?" she teased.

"Oh I just might be. Dunno though... ya got a lot of clothes on fer my taste. Hope all that running earlier didn' wear ya out too much."

"I hope you didn't shit your pants while I was shooting at you earlier. It's really gonna be a turn off if you did."

"Don' ya worry 'bout that none, darlin'. Ya didn' scare me a bit."

"Gorram it! Don't call me darling! I'm carrying a gun longer than your arm here!"

"Well what the hell am I supposed to call ya! Ya didn' tell me yer name!"

"I dunno! Anything else!"

He looked over carefully. She'd only had a tank top on underneath her armor, and now he could see a large expanse of her skin. She was surprisingly muscular for how thin she was. 'Guess compact is a better term.' She nearly as many scars as he did, and peaking out under the back of her shirt was a large dragon head. The tattoo must have taken up her whole back.

"Fine, since ya won't tell me yer name, I'll call ya Dragon."

"Dragon, huh? I guess I'm ok with that," she responded with a slight smile, unlocking the door. "Oh, and Callahan? You better make this worth my while. I'd hate to regret not shooting you come morning."

Jayne groaned as the light came pouring in through the window, burrowing his head more into the pillow. His whole body ached. His legs felt cramped and weary; his back felt like it was on fire, and his neck was stiff and bruised. Why... he chuckled when he remembered why. That girl had been some kind of hellcat. He slowly raised himself up and looked around the room. It was completely wrecked. The mirror was smashed from where he'd slammed her against the wall the night before. The curtains had been shredded and tied to the bed posts as restraints. And the lamp had been knocked over as they had been fighting over who exactly was going to get tied to the bed. He had won, but it hadn't taken her more than five minutes to slip out of them and start clawing the hell out of his back. 'Right that must be why my burns.'

He examined himself in the remnants of the mirror. He looked like he'd lost a fight to a bear. There were deep purple bruises from bite marks all over his neck and chest, and angry red (some even bleeding) scratch marks everywhere else. He grinned lecherously. Oh yeah, what a night.

"Mornin' Callahan," Dragon almost purred as she entered the room, toting two mugs of coffee and a first aid kit.

Jayne was happy to see that she didn't look much better than he did. Her wrists were swollen and dark with bruises, and her neck wasn't much better. There were plenty of red and puffy marks from where his beard had rubbed her too hard, and several places on her back that had needed stitches after the mirror. He was still grinning as he sidled up behind her, pressing himself against her back.

"Hey yerself," he growled into her ear, brushing his lips against it gently.

"Ohhhh, how I would love to get another romp outta you," she groaned, turning in his arms to face him. "But I think my body would commit mutiny against me if I put it through another round, and I have a ship to catch today."

She slinked out of his arms, handing him a cup of coffee. He surveyed her over the edge as she sashayed around the room, retrieving bits of her clothing that had been strewn about the night before. He had a full view of her tattoo now. He had been right; it did take up her whole back. It was an Asian style dragon, laced among patches of clouds. The head stood proudly between her shoulder blades and the tail draped across the side of her left buttocks before tapering off at her thigh. It took a brave kind of woman to tattoo something like that on herself.

Dragon pulled her tight pants on with difficulty, fumbling with the soreness settling in her shoulder blades. Jayne chuckled and handed her the knife belts that she had laid across the dresser the night before. He was surprised they hadn't accidentally stabbed themselves during their little session. She had just finished tugging on her armor and was searching around for her gun belt. Jayne took it in his large hands and gingerly fastened it around her waist, letting his hands linger just a bit longer than he likely should have.

"Such a gentlemen," she cooed, looking around the room to make sure she hadn't left anything.

"I'm surprised yer boss didn' come runnin' last night with all the noise we were makin'."

"Boss isn't here," she said absently, still rummaging through the rubble. "You blew him up in the ship remember? He was planning on moving yesterday, which is why I was here. You guys just picked a bad time."

"Bad time for em; good time for me."

She laughed genuinely. "Guess you could see it that way. All right, so here's the deal. There's two towns kinda close to here; one is sixty miles to the north, the other is one hundred and thrity miles to the southwest. That's where you'll be going. It's called Farringsville. There's a hovercraft in the garage that you're welcome to. No one else has use of it anymore.

"Now, I wanna be plain with you. Just because you got me good and sexed up don't mean that I'm not going to shoot you if you follow me. Because you'll be missing a head faster than your buddy yesterday, dong ma?"

He nodded gruffly and sunk onto the bed. She smiled, strode right up to him, and kissed him soundly. It wasn't the kind of kiss that lovers share the morning after. No this kiss was sin. It was the kind of kiss you get when both people are about to die. Desperate, aching, and passionate. And damned if he never wanted her to stop, but stop she did. A good five minutes later.

"See you around, Callahan," she whispered breathlessly, striding out the door.

He stared after her awhile, sipping his coffee, wondering if he should have asked her name. It took him ten minutes to realize he was still naked.

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So let me know what you thought! Pretty pretty please! Thank you in advance all you wonderful readers :)


	3. All the Bars in the Verse

Jayne was having a terrific day. He had finally managed a semi-permanent spot with a new crew that wasn't going to slit this throat in the middle of the night… well probably wasn't. Honor and loyalty weren't exactly concepts revered by greedy vagrants with little regard to personal hygiene. But more importantly, he had his first payday in quite some time, which was shiny enough that he didn't give a good gorram if the others hadn't bathed in a month. Not that he wouldn't appreciate if they didn't do that, of course.

They had all been hard up; each and every one of them couldn't focus on anything except a little R&R with some questionable company. So when they finished their job, they bolted for the nearest hunk of dirt that was at a safe enough distance. They didn't care what it was called; they just needed to get there. So Jayne was a little stunned when he couldn't find the brothel that he was pretty sure Alliance law mandated to be on every single moon in the Rim. Apparently, a few years earlier, some born-again Christian came to the little rock and converted all the townsfolk (well mostly the womenfolk) into die-hard believers of the Lord Jesus Christ and the Good book. At least that was the answer he got from some local that had been within grabbing distance when he couldn't find his whorehouse. He was informed that the only "sins of the flesh" he was going to find on this "sacred" place were in the only bar in town.

Now Jayne was getting all kinds of upset when he stomped into that bar, but the loveliest sight stopped him. The local feller was right. All the hard-working gals had been driven right out of town… and straight into the bar where they could masquerade around as wayward patrons, talking all kinds of pretty code words and sporting revealing clothing. So Jayne was more than happy to oblige the pretty blonde with her boobs spilling out of the top of her corset as she sidled up to him, pressing against him in all manner of suggestive ways. Yup, he was a happy guy perched on that stool with a cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and the woman's tit in the other. There was nothing in the verse that could have knocked him off his cloud. Nothing except that gorram psycho killer woman.

He had been fixing to slither off somewhere discreet to enjoy everything the blonde was enthusiastically offering him when the door was kicked in. Of all the bars in the big ole verse and on all of the nights, she had to waltz into this one looking like sin itself with her long, dark wavy hair falling to the top of her dragon tattoo and her dark eyes scanning the crowd. Her fingers were absently tracing her gun. She was hunting, and boy was she starving.

There was a clamor of motion behind him, the sound of chairs and tables crashing to the floor. He instinctively reached for his gun, but by the time he spun around, a man was lying on the ground, screaming and clutching at a large hunting knife protruding from the back of his thigh. She was grinning shamelessly as she easily lifted him up and slammed him into the nearest still standing table. Jayne felt a rather uncomfortable stirring in his John Thomas as he watched her draw another knife from her thigh circlet.

"Now, Boris," she whispered, leaning close, the knife point drawing a droplet of blood from this throat. "Why are you running from me? Didn't Hugo tell you that someone would come to collect if you didn't deliver? I know you have the money judging by all of this fine… companionship you've got here."

There was something wrong seriously with Jayne. He wasn't looking at the four scantly clad whores that were backing away terrified from the scene; he didn't feel the blonde tugging insistently at his shirt to go take care of the business that she had been negotiating the whole night. No, he didn't notice any of that. He was too fixated on Dragon's ass as she was bent over some poor schmuck holding a knife to his throat. His mind was already going to all the dirty things they were going to do, and the stuff they would destroy in the process. _I wonder if she'll keep those knives on her this time around…_

"P-p-please," Boris gasped, shaking uncontrollably. "Please don't kill me!"

She laughed mirthlessly, straightening herself. "Boris, Boris, Boris. Now why would you think that I was going to kill you? That doesn't really help me at all."

"It doesn't?" he questioned uncertainly, backing up on the table a bit.

"No, no," she responded, placing the knife to her lips thoughtfully. "See if you're dead, you can't pay me. And if you can't pay me, then I have to go back to Hugo and tell him that I failed, and then I end up dead, which I'm not looking to do any time soon."

"Then… why are you here?" he asked fearfully.

"Well, Boris, it's like this," she began, twirling the knife between her fingers. "I can hurt you without killing you. You see, I can start by tying you to a chair and beating you unconscious, or I can take this knife here and just make tiny cuts on you that will hurt like a mother but won't put you in any kind of real danger."

"Oh god!" he moaned.

"Or I can also take this knife and take off a finger or two," she continued heedlessly. "Or ears are also a good target. I try to avoid tongues because they're messy and gross, and if I ever want any information out of you in the future it makes it really inconvenient since you won't be able to talk."

"Christ, you're a monster!"

"Now, Boris, name calling really isn't going to get you anywhere since I tend to have a nasty temper, but what I was going to say before you rudely interrupted me was that I'd rather avoid all of that go se because I hate this deserted hunk of rock with all its self-righteousness, and I really don't want to have to try to find a quiet place to conduct my business. But I swear, Boris, I will if you make me," she finished, pointing the knife back at his throat.

The man was sweating uncontrollably, his beady eyes darting around the bar. No one had moved to help him. This was none of their business; he was just an outsider. And that woman looked like she would tear this whole place apart, lick her chops, and ask for more. She was a psychopath, and damned if that wasn't what Jayne thought was sexiest about her. Her eyes were steady and serious as she stared down the quivering man beneath her, but her body was a hairs-breadth from grabbing her gun and shooting anything behind her that moved. Jayne grinned as he took a hardy sip of his whiskey and adjusted himself in his stool.

"O-okay," the man sniveled. "Okay, I have the money, but not on me! Not right now."

"Then we have a problem, Boris," she replied calmly, drawing her gun and cocking it.

"B-bu-but I can get it tomorrow! I can get it tomorrow as soon as the bank opens! Dear god, please don't kill me!"

She sighed. "Boris, didn't I already tell you that I wasn't going to kill you? Are you slow in the head or something?" she asked, waving the gun slightly as she spoke. "Worst thing I'm going to do is shoot you in the kneecap. It won't kill you, but it'll hurt like a son of a bitch."

"Tomorrow! Please give me until tomorrow!"

Another big sigh. "Fine, but you're paying interest you know? Twenty-five percent interest. So divide the total by four and add that in addition to the sum, dong ma?"

"Yes! Yes!" he gasped, nodding fervently.

"All right," she responded, holstering her gun and slipping the knife back into the circlet. "We will meet tomorrow morning at 8 am at the bank. Sit on that chair, and I'll take that hunting blade out of your leg."

The man grimaced as he slid into the chair. Dragon knelt on the ground, taking one of the bars napkins and tying it around his leg just above the blade. She gave him no warning before she mercilessly yanked it out. The man screamed, grabbing at his leg sobbing. She stood and grimaced slightly as she wiped the blood off of the blade.

"Don't be such a baby, Boris. You're making me feel like I should just put you out of your misery," she remarked, turning to leave. She thought better of it. "One more thing: if you are not outside of the bank at 8am sharp tomorrow, if you run off in the middle of the night, if you try to screw me over in any way, shape, or form, I'll kill anyone that helped you, and when I find you, I'll be taking something you'll miss more than a couple of fingers."

Dragon sheathed her blade as she turned around, halting slightly as she caught sight of Jayne. He shot her a grin, leaned back on the bar, and raised his glass to her. She returned the smirk, strode right over, settling herself between his legs. She pointedly ignored the protesting and glaring blonde as she slid her hands up his chest.

"And here I was worried that I was going to be bored tonight," she whispered, leaning in to take a sip of his whiskey. "You're clearly celebrating based on those booze you're drinking and that lady-friend you're sporting."

"Listen, bitch," the blonde spit. "I was here first! You want something you're going to have to get it from somewhere else!"

Dragon quirked her eyebrow in amusement as she stared at the woman. "Honey, if I were you, I wouldn't pick a fight with me considering I just pulled my knife out of some guy's leg, but lucky for you, I'm also not wild about hurting people who are too weak and/or stupid to defend themselves. So, here's what's going to happen: I'm gonna ask Callahan here which of us he'd rather have a rough and tumble with. Now, if it's you, I'm going to calmly walk away, and I expect you to do the same."

"And if I don't?" the blonde shot, sticking her chin in the air slightly.

"Well, you'll have an awfully hard time getting customers for the next couple of nights," Dragon replied simply.

"Ya know," Jayne began, sitting his glass down on the bar and grinning lecherously. "There really ain't no reason that ya girls have ta fight ov'r me. Hell, I'd be more than happy ta…"

"Finish that statement and I shoot you," Dragon snapped.

"Ya really think ya could?" Jayne growled, shifting his hand down to the gun strapped on his hip.

"We could find out," she stated playfully. "But she'll get in the way."

Her eyes were locked on Jayne as she reached over and took another sip of his whiskey, licking her lips slowly when she'd finished.

"Beat it, blondey," he rumbled huskily, lighting another cigar.

The woman swore heatedly as she stomped off. Dragon chuckled slightly, before settling onto the bar stool beside him. She ordered some whiskey, sipping it gracefully as she propped her feet on his stool right between his legs. Those legs just made a line that was impossible not to follow. The glimmer of her throwing knives caught his eye. He reached over, slipping on out from its sheath inside her thigh, feeling a swell of pride as she shivered slightly at his touch. He'd let that slide for now. She had good taste in knives. It was handcrafted and perfectly balanced four inch blade, tapering off with a polished mahogany handle that melded perfectly into his grip. She kept her blades in perfectly sharp condition as well. He glanced up at her only to jump at little at her expression. She was chewing lightly on her bottom lip, and the way her wide, sparkly eyes were roving over him almost made him blush. If he remembered how to blush.

"I'm sorry," she said insincerely, draining her whiskey. "It's just been a long time since a man inspected my hardware that closely. I like a man who knows what he's looking for."

"Can' say that I e'er met a woman sportin' this kinda weaponry," he responded gruffly, slowly sliding the knife back into it place. This time he was sure to get more than one shiver out of her. "Startin' ta think there's somthin' wrong wit' me."

"Why's that?"

"Well, I jus' watched ya throw a knife in the middle of a crowded bar inta some guy's leg, describe in detail all the ways that ya would torture 'im, pull a knife outta his leg, and I still got rid of a perfectly willin' whore ta go ta yer bed tonight."

"As I said I like a man that knows what he wants."

"Well that I do, an' right now, I just wanna take off them clothes. But not 'em knives. They need ta stay on."

"How are you going to get my pants off without taking off my knives?"

"Cut 'em off if I have ta."

She laughed, slipping off her stool and pressing against him. Her hands knotted in his shirt, and her lips crushed against his. It was just as he remembered it: needy, passionate, and full of potential. He pulled her closer by gun belt, wrapping his arms around the small of her back. She felt small against him, and if he hadn't already survived one tumble with her, he would have called her fragile. And then she nearly pulled him off his stool trying to kiss him. _Yeah, fragile my ass._ She pulled away from kissing him for moment, which he seized to bury his face against her neck. She gasped, digging her nails into his shoulder.

"Callahan, I think we ought to move this to a more private location," she breathed.

"I think yer right," he grumbled, throwing some money at the bar tender and heading out the door. "Where the hell are we gonna find a room this time of night?"

Dragon pulled out a set of keys from between her breasts. "Already taken care of."

Yup definitely a good day.

It was dark when Jayne woke up. He was still groggy, but damn was he thirsty. He had managed to get himself good and sweaty earlier. He grinned wearily, gingerly hauling himself out of bed. The soreness in his muscles was already starting to set in. That girl managed to beat the crap out of him again even while he was besting her. He stumbled several times on his way to the bathroom. They had knocked over a couple of things again during their. Most notably was what he could only guess what a chair based on the way he stubbed his toe on it. He managed to make it there without completely falling on his face, and after six long drags of water, he was navigating his way back through the minefield. The water had woken him up enough to dodge through the terrain without so much as a "gorram it," but now he was also too awake to drift back to sleep until the sun came up, and there was no way he was sneaking off in the middle of the night. Not when she was laying naked next to him.

He glanced over at her. In the dark, he could make out her outline curled on her side with her back toward him. He could barely see the etchings of her tattoo against her tanned skin. Hard to believe that the woman that had been threatening to cut on a guy earlier could sleep so peacefully. He reached out, tracing the lines on her shoulder gently. She began to stir, and just as he was about to retract his arm, she rolled over, nestling herself into his chest. She draped her arm and leg across his body and nuzzled her face into the crook of his shoulder a few times before falling still. He was almost stunned. The gorram knife-throwing killer woman was a snuggler. He smiled to himself wrapping both of his arms around her tightly. He guessed that was ok; he was a snuggler too. _I could get used to this_, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

Dragon's alarm woke him the second time. They both groaned roughly, and Jayne forcefully knocked the clock off of the bed side table to shut it up. Dragon buried her head more into his chest, growling at the sunlight filtering through the curtain. Her arms tightened more around him as she did. Jayne was all set to fall right back asleep, but she drug his arm away from her and sat up, glaring at the clock laying on the floor.

"I can't believe I have to get up to meet this gorram pissant at the bank today," she grumbled, moving to the side of the bed. "Doesn't he know I have much better things to do? Like have another go round with you."

"Ya could just shoot im and be done wit' it," he responded, blearily rubbing his eyes.

"If only that would get me paid."

She stood, stretching as she did, the muscles in her back tightening as she contorted into different positions. If he had been more awake, he would have been biting his fist in arousal.

"Hell, I'll shoot 'im if it gets ya back inta bed wit' me."

"If only, if only," she said ruefully, leaning down to kiss him. "Unfortunately this isn't the kind of job I can blow off. I'll end up dead."

He stayed in bed, watching her as she moved around the room collecting her clothing. Just like last time. There was something different about this though. She didn't move as quickly, and she kept looking over at him longingly after she put on each piece. He really didn't want her to go. That was something new for him. Sure, he wanted to have his way with her just one more time, but he really just wanted her to get back in bed and fall asleep again, forget the rest of the world for a spell. But she had money to collect, and he had a ship to catch. He wasn't so convinced of his new crew to think that they wouldn't leave without him and split all of his stuff if he gave them a chance. He had Vera to think of after all. But that didn't stop him from grabbing her leg when she put it on the bed to lace up her boots. She looked at him in surprise.

"Ya ever gonna tell me yer name?" he asked.

She looked almost sad as she answered. "Wouldn't do us any good, Callahan. We're mercenaries, and sure, this is all manner of fun, but you've already been at the end of my scope once. How long do you think it will be before you're there again? It'll be easier for both of us if we don't know the name of who's pulling the trigger."

She finished lacing up her boot, and stood. "It was nice running into you, Callahan. Take care of yourself."

"Hope you get paid," he responded.

She didn't kiss him this time. She just nodded awkwardly and strode out the door. He caught the last longing glance she tossed behind her before she closed the door, though he wished he didn't. He sighed, well more like huffed, and yanked himself out of bed to get dressed himself, the entire time wondering why he hadn't just told her to fuck off and slept with the whore instead.


End file.
